Eowyn i Dagnir
by Pachelbel
Summary: We all know that Eowyn is one of the strongest warriors in Middle-earth. But what shaped her into the headstrong, bitter Wraith-slayer? [discontinued]
1. Chapter One: Care

A/N: I have returned! With a story I started a little over a year ago, after I finished reading RotK. *cough* Yes, yes...then I got jumped by another fandom and never came back to this. Disclaimers: I Don't Own Anyone In This Story. That means that I've just given away my few original characters, but oh well...

WARNING: (For once not about drugs or violence!) I have had serious trouble spelling lately, and Spellcheck doesn't cover Middle-earth words, so feel free to correct.

  
  


Dagnir

The fields of Rohan were flat and broad and green no matter where you looked. There were few landmarks, and many were the times Eomer had stood, alone, on the lands his family roamed and been overwhelmed by the vastness of this kingdom.

Standing now in the Golden Hall, one arm around the trembling shoulders of his sister Eowyn, he felt as alone as ever he had been on the fields of his home. Further ahead sat Theoden, while Eodrel (the rider who had rescued the two siblings) recounted the gruesome story for the King.

Eomer's grip tightened around Eowyn as the images of his parents' murders, still fresh in his mind, returned to him unbidden. He wanted to cover Eowyn's ears and protect her from these awful memories, but knew that she felt the same towards him and would no more tolerate coddling than he would.

"Come, children," Theoden spoke at last as he opened his arms to them. "Great love did I have for your parents...." His words were choked with grief as he pulled the two sobbing forms into an embrace. He held them close and said softly, "Great love do I have for you."

  
  


Eomer woke early, as he did everyday. He and Eowyn had been in Edoras for almost a month. Theoden was as loving and kind as their father had been, but he was often too busy for play. The children found other ways to entertain themselves, most often together, though it was a struggle at times to maintain what Eomer knew was 'polite' behavior.

Quietly he tiptoed to his sister's room while the sun drowsily began to spread her rays over the hills and in through the windows. He was armed with a small wooden hair comb.

"Eowyn," he whispered. At first there was no answer, but two steps later the younger child was up and rubbing her eyes blearily.

"Good morning, brother," she mumbled. "May I wear the green dress today?"

Eomer shook his head firmly. "You dirtied it last night."

Eowyn looked at him. "But Sandred said--"

"I know what he said," Eomer cut her off. "But you shouldn't have pushed him in the mud. We're lucky King Theoden doesn't send us off to Fangorn to fend for ourselves!"

"I apologized." The seven year old girl frowned, and Eomer couldn't help but take pity on her. He sighed and walked over to her wardrobe.

"Here, how about the blue one?"

"Really?" Her eyes lit up and Eomer knew he had her under his thumb for the day.

"Yes, but mind that you are more careful with this one."

"I will be!" She scrambled out of bed, hardly noticing the cold stone floor, and changed out of her nightgown and into the coveted blue dress in record time.

Once they had finished making Eowyn's bed, she sat quietly on a small velvet chair and watched the sunrise as Eomer combed out the many tangles of her fine blond hair. He knew it was pointless to ask her not to tousle it throughout the day. Even when she tried her hardest to behave, Eowyn somehow managed to become muddy and scraped.

Their first few weeks were easier, when she had been afraid to breathe wrong, but the kindness of their uncle had put them at ease. Now Eomer feared his sister would soon prove herself the devilish tomboy he knew her to be.

"How do you want it today?" he whispered.

"Like this." She gathered a fistful of hair in each hand and pulled them to her face like a beard and moustache.

Eomer's eyes glinted in amusement, but he refused to smile. "No."

Bright eyes peered up at him through the mess of hair. "But I can't grow one."

"Nor should you! You would be hideous with a man's face, full of hair." Eowyn scowled and released her hair. Eomer brushed it back under his control. He sighed, "Why don't I just do it like I did yesterday?"

It had taken him many long, secret nights and even longer arguments with his sister before he felt he had enough practice at making her look presentable to get up in the morning and prepare her for the day. There was much more to this 'art' of women's hair dressing than there appeared at first. He had also been worried that Eowyn would tell Theodred that her older brother did her hair every morning, but Eowyn thus far had let nothing slip.

"All right." Eomer blinked at his sister's words, shrugging himself out of his silent musings.

He took a two-inch strip of hair and braided it like he did rope; this he had Eowyn hold while he did the other side, and then he bound them together with a ribbon he had found. First scrutinizing it from the back, and then in the mirror, he gazed down at the fidgeting girl.

"Good?" He always asked this. If her response was serious (which was rare) then he would sometimes be forced to redo it.

Eowyn nodded. "Better than yesterday, even."

"Very well, let's get your boots on and go fetch breakfast." Breakfast was served mainly to the soldiers at this early hour, as few other people besides the farmers needed to arise with the sun.

It could have been the fact that Eowyn and Eomer were Theoden's kin; perhaps it was in mind of the tragedy they had just been through; or maybe it was the children's keen wits that brought them under the wings of all the soldiers in Edoras's barracks. Whichever it was, Eowyn and Eomer's visits were greatly looked forward to by the men of the Riddermark.

One of the Marshals was the first to greet them, as they stepped inside the warm barracks. He grinned, teeth flashing white against the grime on his face left over from the night's long patrol. Leaving his bunk, where he had been spreading fresh blankets, he scooped up Eowyn and clapped her brother on the shoulder.

"Earliest to rise, as usual," the captain remarked. "What strange children you are! A lesson could be learned from this by my own young ones. How your nursemaid must grumble, Eowyn!"

Still slung over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, she protested, "I don't have a nursemaid, Dava!"

"Oh, you don't?" He didn't sound like he entirely believed her.

Eomer's ears grew warm as he blushed at the thought of Dava's jeering, should it be known that he cared for his sister in place of a maid. 

Eowyn came to his rescue. "Why should I? Do you have one?"

Dava laughed and set her down. "You mind your tongue! Now come, before the food is cold."

Eomer squoze Eowyn's shoulder in silent gratitude before following the jovial captain down the corridor.

  
  


"I could almost say you enjoy our food, second rate as it often is," a new recruit murmured as he watched Eomer gulp down his breakfast. "We may make a soldier out of you yet."

"I plan to be a Rider," he answered around a mouthful of bread.

"Me, too." Eowyn piped up. 

This brought a few chuckles. "And a fine one you will make, too, milady!"

"So is that the reason the two of you eat with us rather than with the King?" Dava asked.

They exchanged looks. Eomer spoke for them, as he often did, "No. My sister is always hungry in the mornings and I don't want her to wait overly long to be fed."

Most of them accepted this. Dava tilted his head. "And your uncle doesn't mind that you come out here? Doesn't he worry that you don't eat?"

"We do eat with him," Eowyn said. "And the Queen says she is glad for us to be out here." Eowyn didn't know that Queen Elfhild was mostly glad they were coming out of their reserved shells; it didn't matter so much who they befriended, as long as they were active. It gave her hope that they were not damaged more than was expected by the loss of their parents.

  
  


The day passed pleasantly, if uneventfully, for Eowyn and her brother. That night, however, Elfhild sent for her young niece. It was the first time that Eowyn had been summoned without Eomer by her side, and it worried her.

"Yes, milady?" Eowyn quietly stepped into the large, though seldom seen, private chamber of the Queen.

Elfhild turned to her with slightly clouded eyes. Illness was slowly claiming her life, and while she knew it upset the child to see her this way, nothing could be done about it.

A shaking, slender hand was held out to the daughter of Eomund. "Come closer. This is very important...I cannot risk you not hearing my words for their full weight."

Eowyn moved forward silently, on her toes. "What is it, auntie?"

Placing a trembling arm around the girl's shoulders, Elfhild nodded towards a figure standing next to the glowing fireplace. "That is Elio. He has trained Shield maidens for more than a generation..." Her words were ceased by a harsh, rasping cough. She managed to gasp out, "He will train you."

Elio crossed the room and, gently brushing Eowyn aside, tended to the Queen. When she was steadied he turned back to Eowyn. "Your training begins tonight," he murmured. "Come."

Outside, the moon was slowly rising.


	2. Chapter Two: Weeping

A/N: Short update. Sorry! Am tied up *shows tied hands* compliments of a fanfic contest I entered. But I couldn't ignore the plot bunnies for this fic anymore!

Thank yous are in order for the Black Lady of Rohan! I searched forever to find information on Elfhild, Eomund, and Theodwyn, but couldn't find when Elfhild died, or how (which was pretty frustrating) so I decided to have her dying when Eowyn arrives. Yes, Theodred, from everything I found, is 13 years older than Eomer, so I put him as a Rider-in-Training. *smacks her head* I swear I used to know what happened to Eomund and Theodwyn! *sigh* Like I said, my Middle-earth self has spent far too much time on vacation.

Burning_Tyger, Yup! Elfhild was Theoden's wife. And you should do your Eowyn fic! And, whatever happened to the joint-fic we were going to do?!

  
  


Eowyn I Dagnir

As a thin sheet, the dew on the grass of Rohan was spreading. Under the face of a nearly full moon, the fields glittered as though covered in broken glass; the horses which constantly grazed and patrolled the borders were dark shadows in a long, flat land.

Eowyn wanted nothing more than to be one of them at the moment. Instead, she was wet from taking countless tumbles through the grass, and she was shaking from exertion. Her right arm was held out straight in front of her, level with her shoulder, and she strained to hold her short sword steady for just a minute longer.

Her arm shook violently and dropped to her side; she cried out, partly in relief and partly from outrage with her failure. 

Elio turned to her and nodded. "Very good, young one. Nearly twenty minutes. Stretch your arm as I am doing...no, like...Eowyn, look at me. Good. Hold it there and count to sixty."

He turned back to whatever distant speck he had been studying. Eowyn scowled at his back. His clear, baritone voice trailed back to her, "I do not hear you counting."

"Twelve! Thirteen!" She went on until at last she could drop her arm.

"Now hold it like this." He showed her a position meant to stretch her triceps. "And count to sixty." He corrected her once, silently, and this time observed her for the full minute. "Very good. Now show me the rolls I taught you, but tell me what you will always do when you use them."

"Tuck my chin."

He nodded slowly. "And? What else?"

"Keep my eyes on my opponent."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Never do this when rolling." She held her arm and wrist loosely.

"Now practice."

The seven year old did as she was told, corrected almost constantly on her form. Or her speed; or she wasn't watching her 'opponent' carefully enough. She rolled and somersaulted until she was almost sick, and the world refused to stop shifting under her feet.

"I'm tired," she whimpered.

Elio's bright gaze froze her in place. "That doesn't matter. You must not say such things; do not complain, young one. You never know where your enemy may come from, and you must never give them any weakness to use against you. Show me your fist."

The seven year old's lip trembled, and hot tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm tired."

"Show me your fist," the man answered calmly. "Now."

She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself, crying pitifully. Elio allowed her only a moment. "Your fist, young one. Now!" Still sobbing, she held out her fist. Unheeding of the child's tears, Elio took her hand in his. "You must always keep your thumb above your other fingers, like this. Otherwise, you may well break it. Keep your wrist straight. Are you watching? Stop your sniveling and pay attention."

He waited until she had stopped. Slowly, her voice trembling, she repeated, "Always keep my fingers under my thumb...and keep my wrist straight."

Elio smiled then. "Very good. You may go to your bed now." Turning, he whistled and a gray horse trotted to them. "We will continue tomorrow evening." He did not mount the steed; rather, he turned and strode away to the North, and the horse followed at his shoulder.

Eowyn ran back to the comfort of her room.

  
  


Eomer came much too early for his sister's liking the following morning. Or perhaps it was a mere handful of hours since her long night of training; she couldn't tell.

"Sister, you've dirtied your gown." Eomer scolded quietly, brushing at the dirt and grass stuck to a very wrinkled garment. He was unaware that the little girl had burrowed far under her blankets and was no longer listening to him.

When he finally turned, he saw the huddled form under heavy green and gold blankets. "Eowyn?" At first he had been annoyed. Now he crossed over and lifted the edge of the covers. "Are you ill?"

"Tired," she answered. "I am fine...I want to sleep."

"You are dirty, Eowyn. What-" he tugged the blankets up and crawled under next to her "-were you doing last night?"

She remembered in time what she had been ordered to tell people about her training sessions. "I went for a walk."

"For what purpose?" Eomer cried. "You could have been hurt! You could get sick!"

"Sick like Elfhild?" Her sad, gray eyes opened and he hurt to look at her. "I went to see her last night. She is going to die."

Exhaustion added lead weights to Eowyn's already heavy grief, and large, hot tears spilled down onto her bed.

"No, no, don't cry, Eowyn!" Eomer's voice trembled, and he pulled her closer to him. "Hush."

"You're crying, E-eomer," she whispered, tears causing her to tremble even as she clung to her brother. He didn't answer.

They forgot the world, or the breakfast they were missing, or the stifling air under the heavy blankets. They thought of the empty house on the fields, the vacant places where their parents had been.

Together they wept.


End file.
